The Beautiful Soul inside You
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: Seven years have passed since the end of the Second War, and all Antonin Dolohov wants to do is forget everything he'd done. He'd been sentenced to life in Azkaban for the crimes he committed. When no one advocated for his innocence, one rose from the ashes and declared him worthy of redemption.


**Important:** Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments); Book Club (Amber) #11: Tony

 **House:** Slytherin

 **Class:** Women's History: Influential Queer Women

 **Assignment:** **# 5:** Write about someone with artistic talent.

 **Book Club Prompts:** (emotion) remorse, (word) addiction, (object) needle, (plot point) losing something, (dialogue) "I was always this much of an idiot." **Prompt that was omitted:** (setting) Cabin

 **Genre:** Romance; Spiritual

 **Word count: 3156 (** Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

 **Warning:** This is an AU (Alternate Universe).

 **Characters:** (Main Characters are listed Alphabetically by last name.) Antonin Dolohov; Hermione Granger

 **Summary:** Seven years have passed since the end of the Second War, and all Antonin Dolohov wants to do is forget everything he'd done. He'd been sentenced to life in Azkaban for the crimes he committed. When no one advocated for his innocence, one rose from the ashes and declared him worthy of redemption. Hermione Granger was everything a sinner like him could wish for, but even someone as vile as him can see that there is no hope for cleansing his past from the crimes he'd committed.

 **Author's Note:** This is my second attempt at a AntoninxHermione fic. I hope that it lives up to your expectations, as planning and writing this entry took a huge amount of time.

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

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 **The Beautiful Soul Inside You**

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"You didn't tell me you could paint," her soft voice pierced the thick veil of his concentration. The dark-haired man looked up from the wall he'd been preoccupied with, a makeshift brush in one hand, a dirty container in the other. An unused needle lay beside him, untouched by his impure blood. It was the paint in which he used to create his works. Before him was the beginnings of a masterpiece, something he'd been struggling to cope with for the last seven years. The depiction of blood was the prevailing theme throughout his artwork, and even after so many years, he couldn't erase it. Antonin Dolohov had been locked up in this cell for as long as he could remember, left to rot in Azkaban for all the crimes he'd committed. Since childhood, he'd been an avid painter, but it was only after being locked up that he was able to dabble in it once again. Even though the carnage that was the Second War, he found ways to escape the bloodshed and heartache. Although he'd adopted the guise of a Death Eater, he never had the intuition to kill and maim. With that, he could say his soul was clean in that sense.

Antonin dropped his arm, breathing heavily. He had the intense need to paint, and it soon overtook every natural aspect of his new life. He hadn't eaten in days and was barely aware of the thirst crippling his body. His throat ached. His body was sore and his eyes were heavy from so little sleep. The stories about Azkaban rang true… one really does go mad after such a long time in the hellhole they called a prison.

Hermione Granger appeared before him like a saint sent by the Heavens. At first, he didn't believe that she was there, haunting him like a dream. Slowly, his defenses lowered and he accepted the fact that what he was seeing was true and not a figment of his imagination. Insanity wasn't unknown to the inmates of Azkaban; the night was filled with their wild catcalls and screams, and he wasn't unfamiliar with his own demons as the tormented relentlessly with imaged he wished to forget. It was one of the many reasons he couldn't sleep peacefully at night.

She remained the same innocent woman who'd taken it upon herself to advocate for his release. For a Muggleborn such as herself, it was almost unheard of. She'd researched, bartered, petitioned... she did everything and anything just to clear his name and procure a better future for him. For the life of him, Antonin couldn't understand why she'd readily waste her time. He'd done terrible things, unspeakable acts, and yet she was willing to put her dignity on the line and help him escape the bottomless pit he found himself in night after night. If she was trying to find closure for herself, then why try to save a lost soul like him?

Antonin tensed at the familiar scent of her perfume, which was something floral with the slightest hint of amber. Her favorite scent, he presumed miserably as he felt her creep up behind him. Why she insisted on visiting him every Sunday was beyond him; he couldn't imagine any of the other inmates receiving the same careful administration of affection. None of them had done anything to warrant her kindness and neither had Antonin. He could only speculate as to what was going through her mind as she stopped in front of him, her image as real as the paintings surrounding them. The curly mess she called hair flowed freely down her the length of her back. She'd kept it long, something Antonin found himself daydreaming about on numerous occasions. He often wondered if she'd ever age.

"You came," he croaked out, finding her presence impossible to believe as he turned around to face her.

Hermione smiled," Of course I did. I promised I'd come back, didn't I?"

"I don't suppose you're one to go back on your word," Antonin said grumpily. Black eyes collided with brown eyes, and for a moment they were connected as one. "Not that you've missed any Sunday for the last seven years."

"I keep my promises." He could hear the hurt in her words. "She's beautiful," she whispered softly. Her eyes were wide with wonder and it took everything for Antonin not to stare at her lest she discovered whom he'd been painting all this time."I'm sure I've seen her before…"

"That she is," he nodded slowly in agreement."And, no. I doubt you ever crossed paths with this woman." Antonin lied to her.

Hermione sat down next to him, leveling the field.

They were equals now.

There was no Pureblood and Muggleborn.

No hero or criminal.

Just man and woman, as they should've been.

"I love what you did with her eyes… the shading and the insinuation of light in the corners. It's marvelous, really."

"You've come across Death Eaters whose only outlet is painting on grimy walls in dank prison cells?"

Hermione looked at him, before shaking her head slowly. "You're the only one, Antonin. Which makes you one of a kind, of course."

"She's nothing extraordinary," he told her in a soft, unnerving voice. "And, neither am I. You've seen better, I assure you."

"Possibly...but I doubt I've seen anything as exquisite as this, Antonin. You're more like a sad tragedy that's waiting for its tale to be told, believe me. I hope to be the one to tell your tale."

Choosing to ignore her choice of words, he asked her," Tell me, how is the outside world beyond these cells? Can a man who's done so much evil ever come across something pure before he wastes away?"

Her answer was the call to which his soul took flight."Beautiful, but it would be better for you."

Antonin laughed devilishly," You always had a way with words, Hermione." He stopped painting, setting aside his paintbrush. He looked up at the wall and sighed."I'm afraid that you're wrong about the world. It would be better without me. The world doesn't deserve every bit of evil that I'm adorned with."

"Is that really what you believe?"

"Don't delude yourself… everyone is thinking the same thing. How can a monster like me fit into the world as it is today?"

"What are you afraid of?"Hermione asked calmly. "Why do you subject yourself to such pity? Don't you wish to see what lies beyond these walls?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," he gritted his teeth, anger boiling inside of him. "I'm only stating the truth."

"Then tell me… why can't you accept that someone wants to help you?" Hermione looked at him defiantly, almost forgoing the strong charm that kept them at a great distance from one another. He wanted her to touch him, but he was afraid. When no alarm sound went off, Antonin allowed his defenses to drop but held back significantly. If he got to close, he was sure to break.

"I do not deserve your help or anyone's help for that matter!" Antonin looked behind her, catching the glimpse of one of his pieces trying to strip itself from the wall. Although all his magic had been taken from him the moment they took his wand and snapped it, he retained the uncanny ability to control everything that he created with his blood. The magic was still there, but only so. He feared one day that, too, would be taken away and he would be left completely at the mercy of his adversaries. What about him then? Would Hermione still see him as the same man, or would she finally realize the grandeur of his ordeal?

"I don't need to see the world when I have these. That's why I paint," Antonin made a grand gesture of showcasing all his hidden works, each displaying their own variations of the worlds outside. He had fields green, oceans of ivory, and kingdoms of animals so pronounced that one would've thought he'd dreamt them up. There wasn't a single inch of his cell that hadn't been covered with his blood, painted or sculpted from the clay she secretly brought him, almost as atonements or offerings. She was the catalyst to his need to let all his sins reign free, thus cleansing his body from all that he'd done. Hermione was an angel sent to him by God.

Something inside Antonin's heart pinched and he immediately dropped his arms. He looked back at his painting, once again dabbling in thoughts that ought to be laid to rest. "Of course I'd like to know what's beyond these walls, but you heard the Minister of Magic…you were there. People like me don't deserve mercy. There are things that the Dark Lord forced us to do that aren't meant for innocent creatures like you to hear. It's better to just lock them up in a cell and throw away the key. The world can't be bothered by anything that has the power to harm them."

"Is that truly what you believe?" Hermione asked, unable to process his words as she tried to get him to come around to the idea of freedom. "What if I told you I could grant you freedom?"

Antonin didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up his paintbrush and went back to work.

The patent observation from him was a sickening one to her. To think that they were somehow connected sent terrible shivered to cascade down her spine. This rippling effect had a disastrous effect on her entire body. She was frozen; she could feel his arms come and make contact with her arms. Thank goodness they were covered, or he would be able to visually count the goosebumps rising to attention. He indeed had an effect on her. One, she knew, wasn't healthy or good. Sensing her dismay, he pulled back, chuckling. The bloody bastard found the whole thing amusing! Curse him for trying to get under her skin, and curse her for allowing him to take it as far as he did.

As Hermione pulled away, the wall began to shine. Had Antonin not thought of her words nothing more than childish, he would have taken his words more seriously. Antonin was sick, that he knew. Hermione should heed his unspoken warning not to step too far into his embrace. Whilst he couldn't control every little actions of hers, he couldn't stop the words from playing in the back of his mind as it brought him to the beginning of a dark tunnel and further into despair.

"You are rather quiet," a deep, haunting voice broke through the haze.

Hermione turned, the color in her face changing before Antonin. It was a haunting thing to watch.

"I just don't understand why you don't want my help."

"Seems unlike you, does it not?" Antonin prodded with animosity. "I told you to stay away from me, Hermione."

Her heart thrummed inside her chest. "Why would I do that?"

Antonin leaned in, his lips just inches away from her ear, "I can ruin you just as easily as I ruined the rest." His breath fanned out and over her neck. An involuntary shudder coursed through her and she knew he noticed. "But, what I cannot understand is why. Why should I distance myself from you when we have this undeniable attraction to one another?"

Hermione tried her best to vanquish the whimper that threatened to spill from her lips. He would not win and she would not admit defeat. Especially when he wasn't playing fair.

"Once you find an attraction with fire, you will get burnt." Antonin's cold words pierced her so violently that she stumbled backward onto the floor. Hermione watched as he went back to his painting, once again ignoring everything that was going on around him.

The silence between them was an endless one.

Antonin remained calm. She became quite enamored by the side Hermione he'd never seen. During the day, he wouldn't have given anyone a second glance. This addiction to her and her visits was taking over his being. Many of the inmates preferred to be left alone, while some found solitude in their disillusioned states. Fortunately for him, he was able to put up a wall and block everything out, including Hermione.

A woman stood before them. Nestled between several eerie looking portraits and canvases. The portrait they were standing in front of at present was the most daunting scripture she has ever seen. Her dark eyes endless, penetrating. A pleading glint erupted deep within them. Her head swayed about, to and fro and as it tried to catch an imaginary object. Her hands were clasped together in prayer, her fingers burnt, blood oozing from the missing grooves of skin. A stream of her blood dripped down her arm, covering the once dazzling white dress with her filth. A scream tore painfully from her throat. Flames erupted around her, engulfing her in scorching heat. She tried to fight the flames, but they held her captive. Until the last flame licked away at her skin and her blood pooled at her feet, she stood there, screaming for it all to end.

Antonin didn't realize how long they had been sitting there until the portrait flew from his vision and he was standing in front of a tunnel, barely lit with the glow of the candles in his cell. He found himself just as enthralled by the dorms as Malfoy. Barely registering his surroundings, Antonin waited for some sort of outburst from Hermione. Shaking from the experience, he blinked his eyes several times and urged herself to bring her breathing back to normal. When he did, he fought against his better judgment and welcomed the temporary darkness. Inside, he was safe. Though, it certainly didn't feel gratifying.

Antonin needn't know who inspired his latest piece because she was sitting right beside him. A great handful of his early work had been inspired by her image. A lot of them, as he imagined, came from the unrelenting guilt he had for destroying so many lives during the War. A ping of remorse dropped to the bottom of his stomach and he doubled over as if the weight of it had become unbearable to endure. Hermione didn't think twice and she was right by his side, aiding in any way that she could. If it hadn't been the motley of spells keeping them from touching one another, she would've most certainly placed that warm hand upon his forehead as if to say everything will be alright.

"It's nothing," he lied to her straight away, defending himself with a wave of his hand.

"You haven't eaten properly in days!"

"Can't keep anything down," he bit out angrily.

"That doesn't mean that you give up."

"I've given up a long time ago!" Antonin roared. "After all these years, you still elude me. After all, I've done, the anguish I've inspired, how can an impossibly idiotic witch like yourself ever find forgiveness in my image? How can you forgive me for the pain I've inflicted upon you?"

Hermione flinched at his words, knowing full well to what he was referring to. The curse he cast all those years ago in the Department of Mysterious was meant to kill her, but instead of death, it left her with a lifetime of nightmares and a scar expanding her torso that was never to be erased. Antonin could feel her despair as if it was his own; he hadn't meant to get so deeply involved with her, but somehow she wiggled her way under his hardened skin and planted herself as an omnipotent deity

Hermione wasn't the type of person to give up so easily, so when she first came to him seven years ago, Antonin had downright refused her company. After all, he'd done, he never felt remorse until she began showing up on visiting day. At first, he turned away, berated her for showing up and demoralizing the very thread in which her life was woven with. She'd been hurt, of course. No one in their right mind wouldn't be hurt by his words, but that didn't stop the woman from showing up the following Sunday and dedicated days afterward. Antonin couldn't pinpoint when, but he'd grown accustomed to her visits. One might say he'd welcomed them after a long, arduous week of hysteria and darkness. She was the breath of fresh air he craved. Hermione appeared before him like a shining light delivering him from the evil he'd committed. But, was he good enough to accept it without dire retribution?

Antonin slumped against the way, drawing in deep breaths and letting them out in harsh bursts. He looked at Hermione, his eyes growing dark, though his icy heart was being chipped away by her mere expression.

"Why do you insist on coming back?" He hissed, drawing his left leg up as to allow him to rest his thin arm on his knee while his head cleared. "How is it every time you come, I'm reduced to this shriveling mess? Do you know what the other inmates are whispering about? That I have some sort of deal with a Mu-," he stopped himself just in time. Antonin had grown to learn the meaning behind such a demeaning name and it was all thanks to Hermione.

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment. As silence slipped between them, she looked up at the painting and then around the cell. She took inventory of the rusty bars, the bone-chilling cold that seemed to occupy every corner of the small room. Had there been windows to allow the darkness to escape, it wouldn't be enough to shine a light on what Antonin had been reduced to. After the war and the imprisonment of the last remaining Death Eaters and conspirators, the Ministry declared that they'd spend the rest of their remaining lives locked up in a cell in Azkaban. It was the most fitting punishment, Antonin knew, and one he believed he deserved. For some strange and unfathomable reason, Hermione didn't see him as such. She believed he could be redeemed, though Antonin could beg to differ.

"Hermione...I believe it is your time to go." Antonin turned his back to her, finally ready to throw away whatever relationship that formed between them over the years. Whether she was there to ensure he didn't commit suicide or aid him in his road to redemption, he didn't care. "I hereby relieve you of whatever debt you seemed to procure for yourself while in my presence. I'm setting you free."

Antonin felt his heart pinch inside of his chest at the sight of her celestial face as it morphed before him.

If there was any remaining human left inside of him, he felt it then.


End file.
